Disclaimer: I recognize I own nothing.
A/N: yet another Blair/Chuck oneshot from moi. Thanks to dictionary .com for the definitions! Enjoy!
Ignorance: the state or fact of being ignorant; lack of knowledge, learning, information.
He sees her across the courtyard giving one of those cute smiles to her blonde best friend.
He looks up cute in a dictionary and almost chokes on the definition. Too ashamed to live he proceeds to drown himself in scotch, 'cause boy, what a way to go. Serena finds him on the floor of his suite and puts him to bed; declining his offer to join him under the cool, clean sheets.
'If I succumb to alcohol poisoning tonight,' he slurs, watching Serena's amused face under hooded eye-lids, 'it is my dying wish that Blair gets my scarf and Eric can have my last roll up, it's in my jacket pocket over there,' he tries to point but his arm falls limply on the bed.
'Blair wouldn't want your scraggy old scarf and Eric doesn't smoke.' She tells him, her tone laced with laughter.
'But I've got nothing else to give,' he trails off weekly, giving her a pathetic look. As though losing the string of conversation and picking up another, he states in a mysterious tone, 'I looked up love in the dictionary.'
'You have a dictionary? What were you doing with a dictionary?' She asks, surprised.
'Looking up words I never use.' He drawls.
'Yeah? And what does love mean?' Serena asks absently as she tucks the sheets in around him, much like a mother would do her child. That sets a pang off in his heart because his mother skipped town before he made it to the tender age of eight, leaving him to choke on the dust she stirred up.
'Noun. One: a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. Two: feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection. Three: sexual passion or desire.' He can't believe he memorized them, and apparently, neither can Serena.
'And who do you love?' She smirks knowingly, he misses it as he closes his eyes and sighs.
'Tara Reid.' He replies coyly before slipping into the comforting darkness of sleep.
'It's my birthday this week.' Perhaps his seventeenth will be worth celebrating, he knows that it all comes down to her.
'I know, idiot.' The fact that she knows is enough to send the butterflies soaring.
'Will you plan the party?' She's walking up the met steps in front of him, and he takes the chance to check out her ass.
She turns suddenly at his request, 'pardon?'
'I attend parties, I don't plan them. Anyway I know you like doing that sort of thing, and you're the only one I trust to get it right.' He replies earnestly to her abrupt question. She takes all too long to answer and her doe eyes are dancing all over his face, making him feel slightly uncomfortable though of course he doesn't let it show. The smirk never falters.
'Fine.' She tells him imperiously, looking down her nose at him where he stands on the steps below. 'I'll do it. But you cannot interfere; I get total freedom and don't think this gives you an excuse to talk to me. I'll call you, got it?'
The smirk has turned to a smug grin a long time ago. 'Whatever you say, Waldorf.'
She themes it to Moulin Rouge, one of her favorite films. She made him watch it once too, and he had complained and whined about how boring it was and eventually found himself holding her when she cried at the end. The film had been like a fucking musical or something, he'd been expecting whores and porn and the like. He must have had temporary brain loss or something; it was Blair Waldorf's choice of film after all.
Well, she knows his tastes at least because the theme means the girls are going to be dressed as whores and the men in suits. He's more excited by the thought of seeing Blair in her costume than the actual party itself. Practically every teenager in NYC showed up, even, to Chuck's disgust, Cabbage Patch. But Blair did the invites and he is her best friend's boyfriend after all. Whatever: the more guests, the more gifts.
There is a VIP area reserved for himself, Blair, and whom ever else she chose: basically the inner crowd.
'So do you like it what?' Blair asks him excitedly as he turns up fashionably late. She looks gorgeous, of course, her dark hair cascading in ringlets over her shoulders. She's classy, even as a whore.
'I knew I had the right person for the job.'
When the cake comes out, topped with seventeen candles, he kisses her passionately in front of everyone in the VIP area (there is the sound of Kati and Iz's cell phone camera's going off). When he pulls back, she smiles and interlocks their hands. 'Make a wish.' He blows out the candles with one, long breath and everyone claps around them.
'I looked up romantic in the dictionary,' he tells Eric a week before Valentine's day. The holiday is looming and she's been dropping hints as though she doesn't know the meaning of the word "subtle". Perhaps he ought to lend her his dictionary, though he's been finding it ever so useful lately. 'Displaying or expressing love or strong affection.' He sticks out his arms in exasperation 'What the fuck am I going to do?'
'Keep it simple, it's the thought that counts.' Eric pats him on the shoulder reassuringly.
'That is the worst advice I've ever heard.' He deadpans.
He's starting to panic, (a sudden overwhelming fear, with or without cause, that produces hysterical or irrational behaviour, and that often spreads quickly through a group of persons or animals.) knowing he's got to do it right. He's seen her get disappointed by Nate on such holidays too many a time. It's weird how when Nate always used to forget about their anniversary till the actual day, Chuck was always sent to get her present and she none-the-wiser, always loved it and thanked Nate with a glowing smile but now that all the pressure was on him all ideas flew from his head.
He goes to her penthouse a few days before the holiday and she's watching Breakfast at Tiffany's again. They make-out on her bed and he briefly hears Holly Golightly ranting on about Tiffany's being the best place in the world in the background
An idea sparks.
'What are we doing for Valentine's?' She asks.
'It's a surprise.' He replies mysteriously before ducking his head to trail light kisses along her prominent collarbone.
She looks shocked. 'You have something planned?'
'I'll take care of the evening if you take care of the night,' he cocks a suggestive eyebrow, lips playing into a smirk against her scented skin.
'Deal.'
She looks like all her wildest dreams have come true when they step out of the cab on Valentine's. He holds an arm out, 'dinner at Tiffany's?'
'Chuck... This is...' she shakes her head, trying to get the words out. 'This means everything to me.'
She chooses a necklace with a butterfly pendant as her present and he places it carefully around her delicate neck, the cold metal sitting proudly on her porcelain skin and making his heartbeat quicken.
When they get back to his suite there's candles and petals and red, silk sheets and it's got Blair written all over it. He has no time to wonder how she did this when she pulls him into a fiery kiss, full of promise and love. He's about to grab her and throw her on the bed when she pulls away and offers him a sultry. 'Wait here. I have to slip into your present.' He thinks, at this point, he's actually going to stroke.
'I love you. And not just in a number three way. In a one, two and three way.'
'I have no idea what you're going on about but I love you too, Chuck Bass.'
Completion: the state of being completed, conclusion, fulfilment.